


dream a little dream of me

by livtontea



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Hugs, No Incest, Not Beta Read, Reunions, Sibling Love, happy crying, not s2 compliant ig?, only sort of canon compliant, post-death communication via dreamsharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livtontea/pseuds/livtontea
Summary: “I am! I’m here, Allison, really. This isn’t—you’re not making me up, I’m not some, some subconscious figment of your imagination, I’m—it’s me. It’s really me. Please believe me,” he says softly, and Allison lets go of any doubt she’d been holding onto.For the first time in almost two decades, Allison pulls her brother into a hug.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Ben Hargreeves
Comments: 16
Kudos: 49





	dream a little dream of me

**Author's Note:**

> this is a funky little thing i wrote out because allison and ben deserve hugs and are such an underappreciated brotp ;w; there's some vague gore at the beginning, but nothing serious. not very s2 compliant, but not very end-of-s1 compliant either. i guess this is somewhat of a vaguely no-apocalypse au, but im vague enough about the setting it doesn't matter. enjoy!

Allison dreams about shouting and violin bows. She relives Vanya cutting her throat, and she dreams about blood running down and staining her shirt. She presses her hands to her throat and when she brings them back they’re covered in red.

She looks up and her throat is fine and her hands are bloody, but it isn’t her blood—Klaus is sobbing, and there’s shouting, and suddenly, she knows where she is. 2006. The mission. In her head, it’s always been _The Mission_. Big letters, big screams, big pools of blood soaking her skirt over the knees.

And then she dreams about hands shaking her shoulders and a voice saying “Allison, Allison wake up,” and opens her eyes.

“Ben?”

Ben pulls away. He smiles. “Yes!” Then frowns. “No.”

“What?” rasps Allison. “Ben, how are you-- You’re here?”

“Yeah! But, no, not really? It’s—Allison, it’s complicated, I am—I’m so happy to see you.”

Allison reaches up to rub her eyes. She blinks, and Ben is still there, looking at her. He’s crouched in front of her, and Allison isn’t in bed, waking up, she’s curled up on the ground, her knees digging into dirt.

“What?” she says again. “Where am I?”

“You’re at home, in bed,” says Ben. When she opens her mouth to ask him what the hell he means, because she _isn’t_ at home, she _isn’t_ in bed, he adds, “Asleep. You’re dreaming.”

Something in Allison plummets.

“Oh,” she says. “So… you’re not really here.”

“I am! I’m here, Allison, really. This isn’t—you’re not making me up, I’m not some, some subconscious figment of your imagination, I’m—it’s me. It’s really me.”

Allison pushes herself up from the ground. Her uniform—she’s dressed like she’s still a child, still fighting for survival in the Academy, pleated skirt barely reaching past her knees—is clean. Except for dirt and grass stains at her knees. Ben stands too, legs unfolding from under him like a wind-up toy. He looks—his clothes are the same as the theater, the blue glow replaced by regular black fabric.

Ben breathes out shakily. “Please believe me,” he says softly, and Allison lets go of any doubt she’d been holding onto.

She reaches out, hands spread slightly, head inclined in a silent question. Ben presses his lips together, the same tell of unsurety as it was when they were young, but nods.

For the first time in almost two decades, Allison pulls her brother into a hug.

“I believe you,” she says into the juncture where his shoulder meets his neck. “Ben, I believe you, of course I believe you.”

She feels hands tighten in the back of her blazer. She thinks he’s shivering, for a second—but as he buries his face in her hair Allison realizes he’s shaking.

“Thank you,” says Ben. Allison does him a favor and doesn’t mention the wetness of his voice. “You’d, uh. You’d be one of the first.”

Allison’s grip on his jacket tightens. “You’re my brother,” she says fiercely. “ _Of course_ I believe you.”

Ben sniffs. “Oh, Jesus, I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all soppy.”

“Well, I don’t care. Be as soppy as you want.”

Ben laughs, and pulls away. His hands go back to Allison’s shoulders, and he grins at her with wet eyes and a slowly-reddening nose.

“I missed you,” he admits. “I missed you so goddamn much, Allison.”

“I missed you too,” she says. “You don’t even— _god,_ Ben, I missed you every single day.”

“I’m sorry I died.”

Allison scoffs. Then when Ben doesn’t laugh along, leans toward him incredulously.

“Did you seriously just apologize for _dying?_ Ben, in what world would that make sense? If anything, _I’m_ sorry for not saving you.”

“Don’t be. What’s done is done. I should have been able to save myself, and I’m sorry I couldn’t.”

“No,” firmly says Allison. “No, stop, nope. I’m not letting you.”

Ben bites his lip to contain his smile. Allison is smiling too, and she smiles freely, her brother right there, right in front of her, like he’d never left.

“No more apologizing about you dying! It wasn’t your fault. At all.”

“Alright,” agrees Ben. “I won’t apologize for it if you won’t.”

“Hmm. Deal.”

Ben raises his pinkie finger. His smile grows more lopsided and loose. “Swear on it?”

Allison hooks her finger around his with the seriousness and finality of a judge. “Swear on it.”

They shake their twined pinkies, once, twice. Allison meets Ben’s eyes, and suddenly she feels laughter bubbling up inside her, laughter she can’t help but set free. Ben laughs too, and god _damnit,_ Allison _missed_ that laugh. They laugh together like they so rarely got the chance to, as if they’re sequestered away in one of their rooms giggling under the bedsheets.

“Ben,” she gasps when she calms down, “Ben, no, for real. Where are we?”

Ben waves a hand at the monochrome world around them. “You’re still asleep, but I’m… I guess you’d call it After.”

“After?”

“Yeah. After. You’re not here, physically, but I’m not really either. I’ve learned not to think too hard about it.”

“Wait, wait, wait. So we’re… in the afterlife?”

Ben shakes his head. Then nods. “Yes and no. It’s after-death. But She doesn’t like it when we call it the afterlife.”

“She?”

Ben pats her cheek with a shit-eating grin, and, oh, Allison has missed him so damn much. She’s missed these little inside jokes and casual touches that they rarely got to indulge in. She’s missed her brother.

“Don’t think too hard,” he says. “You’ll just confuse yourself.”

“I’m confused,” announced Allison with a childlike grandeur.

“I know,” Ben smiles. “It’s alright.”

“Will you stay?”

“Yeah, Allison, of course I will. I’ll stay as long as I can. I have to go soon, and you have to wake up, but—I’ll stay.”

It occurs to Allison that she has five other siblings to worry about.

She asks, “What about the others? Will you talk to them too?”

Ben’s smile softens at the edges and his eyes gleam fondly. “Of course I will. If you can get Five to sleep.”

Allison laughs. She never wants to let him go. Carefully, she pulls him into another hug, relishing the feeling of her brother in her arms.

“Is this a one-time thing? Am I going to remember this when I wake up?”

Ben pulls away just enough to look into her eyes. “I can’t promise that I’ll see you again. I’m dead, Allison—some things you just… you can’t arrange. But I can promise I’ll do my best to see you again.”

Allison smiles and doesn’t wipe away the dampness clinging to her eyelashes. “Pinky promise?”

“I’ll do you one better. Pinkie swear.”

_

Allison wakes up with her brother’s smile stamped on the inside of her eyelids, a matching one stretched across her own lips. Her pillow is tear-stained in the happiest way.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you liked it, any and all comments are welcomed! you can find me on tumblr @zontiky if you wish to :) good day!<3


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